


The Truth That Lies Beaneath

by staymagical



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Death, Tragedy, im not even sure anymore, might be slash, might not be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 16:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1611821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staymagical/pseuds/staymagical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uther has accused Merlin of sorcery and sentenced him to death. There is nothing Arthur can do as he watches from his chambers where he has been locked as his servant is tied to the pyre and it is set ablaze. But Arthur loses consciousness before he can watch Merlin burn and is woken up in the morning by...Merlin? What is going on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Truth That Lies Beaneath

**Author's Note:**

> Alright so some may read this as Merthur and some may say it's just their friendship and bond talking. I don't even know really what I intended anymore so read it however you like. So put those slash googles on or throw them far away and enjoy!

Arthur was completely and utterly helpless.

And he wasn’t taking it very well. As was to be expected. He was the prince after all and princes were never helpless. Or at least, they shouldn’t be.

How could this have happened? It didn’t make any sense. There had to be a mistake, a fault somewhere, some sort of misunderstanding or....something! It just wasn’t plausible that Merlin, his clumsy, idiotic, loyal manservant, had...had...

Magic.

But that there was not the heart of the problem.

That would be Uther and his injustice.

Arthur raised his fist and beat on his chamber door once more, as though the fourth time was the charm and it would suddenly decide that all his efforts were commendable enough and open up for him. No such luck. He was locked in here, his own chambers for god’s sake, while his father stood up on the balcony overlooking the courtyard, changing Arthur’s life unknowingly.

Or, more accurately, Merlin’s.

For after this, Merlin wouldn’t have a life. It would be forfeit, like so many before him, to the paranoid obsession that his father employed. And there was nothing Arthur could do about it. 

He had tried, oh lords had he tried. He had talked, pleaded, then screamed and ranted, even going as far as to take physical action not only against his father but also in the form of releasing his servant from the confines of the dungeon. But it had been all for naught. His father had had the guards drag him up to his room and lock him within, claiming it was all the work of the boy’s enchantment. Of course he would say that. It was the oldest excuse in his father’s book. When anyone opposed to his ways of handling sorcery he claimed they were under an enchantment or simply a magic wielder themselves. Either way, it never ended well.

“Citizens of Camelot,” Uther’s voice carried across the courtyard to Arthur’s chambers and he swiftly strode over to the window overlooking the proceedings. The proceedings that shouldn’t even be happening. It was wrong. So wrong. Arthur had never understood that more than he did now.

His eyes glanced down into the packed courtyard, taking note of the citizens’ faces, filled with anticipation and some, fear and sorrow. In the center of the crowd, standing proud but ominous, was a wooden pole with layers upon layers of kindling and hay surrounding it. A pyre. 

Arthur remembered being a child on these days, watching as sorcerers—what he now realized were mostly just innocent people—were lead, beaten and broken to the stake. He had never really understood exactly what had been happening only that bad people were being eradicated because they caused destruction and chaos in unnatural ways. But now, he understood it all too perfectly. It was nothing more than a paranoid king trying desperately to remain in control of a once proud kingdom. And innocent people were unwillingly giving their lives to the cause. 

It was wrong. So very very wrong.

His father was speaking again, he could hear the droning of his voice as he gave the speech Arthur had heard time and time before, but his attention was drawn elsewhere. For there, being dragged out by four nameless guards, two having to hold tightly onto his upper arms to keep him from collapsing to the ground, was Merlin. 

Arthur clenched his teeth as rage tore through him, consuming all thoughts in its path as he caught sight of his servant. Even from up here, Arthur could clearly see the bruises that blossomed upon his once unblemished face and that his clothes were torn and bloody in places. He walked with a limp, favoring his ribs and left leg. Broken and sprained, Arthur assumed, watching the young man as he was dragged through the now gaping crowd. Shock was written clearly upon most of their faces and Arthur realized that most of these people knew Merlin, had talked to him, worked with him, may even care for him if his popularity among the royal staff was anything to go by. They would never have guessed this would be his fate nor would they have wanted it. They had that in common with Arthur.

His eyes fell upon Gaius then, seeming to pick the old man out among the crowd as though drawn to him. Sorrow and despair radiated from the old man in waves even as his eyes remained ever dry. Arthur could tell he was trying to put up a strong front if not only for his ward, but also for the serving girl in his arms. Gwen was clinging desperately to the old man as though she too would get carried away at any moment. She, unlike Gaius, was openly sobbing. It came as no surprise to Arthur. She and Merlin were close. She had been his first friend in Camelot and it was well known that she considered him one of her best friends.

He hadn’t realized he was yelling until Uther stopped speaking and his own voice was all that was ringing in his ears. Arthur immediately quieted knowing that he could scream out his rage all he wanted but it wouldn’t make any difference. It hadn’t made any difference earlier.

The silence down in the courtyard was so dense, Arthur was sure not even the sharpest sword could have cut through it. Uther seemed to realize this as he undoubtedly gave the nod for the Merlin to be tied to the stake—Arthur was unable to see his father upon his high balcony from his window but he knew the proceedings by heart. Much as he wish he didn’t. 

Merlin didn’t even struggle as his hands were yanked behind him—though his wince was clear even from Arthur’s vantage point—and tied together around the wooden pole. He was facing the balcony, as was the usual for this sort of event. Uther liked to look down upon the accused showing them who was in charge and who held the power as they died for their crimes.

But it wasn’t Uther Merlin was looking at. His eyes, stormy blue and piercing were locked on Arthur’s own as though he could read all the pain and rage within the prince’s own. Arthur wanted to scream and yell and tell Merlin how sorry he was, how much he had tried, how much the young man meant to him and to please please _please_ don’t let this be real, don’t let this be happening. He even wished at that moment that Merlin really was a sorcerer and could just magic himself to safety, anywhere where he would not be killed for being nothing more than who he was. For there was no way Merlin could ever be evil, magic or no magic. It just wasn’t possible. The idiot couldn’t even bare to hurt a rabbit let alone person.

Through the agony and despair not to mention facing imminent death, Merlin still seemed strong, not breaking down and refusing to give in to the norms of a burning. By this point, the accused was normally pleading, begging for mercy and forgiveness or proclaiming their innocence and profound loyalty to the crown. But Merlin stood tall, despite his obvious injuries, head held high accepting his fate as though destiny itself had bestowed it upon him and not for the clear injustice that it was. And his eyes were still locked on the prince’s.

Arthur could feel that the young man was trying to tell him something. The proud blue eyes were not screaming at him to do something, were not pleading for him to change the young man’s fate. They were full of sorrow, yes, but also full of pride and understanding. _I forgive you_.

Uther must have ordered the pyre to be lit because a guard was walking forward with a torch in his hand. Arthur watched as Merlin looked down at his feet, trying to compose himself as his death steadily approached. Arthur would watch this, no matter how painful or how unfair it may be, he owed that to Merlin. To never forget the events of this day to have the images seared into his memory and make sure that when he became king, they would never again come to pass. Because of Merlin. For Merlin.

But just as the guard lowered the flame to the kindling and set Arthur’s servant—friend, brother, maybe more—aflame like so many before him, Merlin’s head shot up and once again his eyes met Arthur’s own. A few tears had escaped and carved tracks down the young man’s grime coated cheeks. But his eyes were full of determination as once again a message was relayed through them. _I’m sorry_. 

Puzzled, Arthur could only watch as Merlin’s mouth moved almost imperceptibly in whispered words the prince was unable to read. It was at that moment that the flame caught the kindling, lighting the pyre at Merlin’s feet. The light from it reflected in Merlin’s eyes, turning them an almost liquid gold. Arthur barely registered this before a sudden heavy blanket of exhaustion settled on his shoulders and he fell back into darkness.

* * *

Arthur could feel himself waking, though his mind was disinclined to do so. Something was telling him he really didn’t want to wake up right now and face the day. And who was he to argue with that. Especially when his bed was so warm and soft at the moment.

But instead of falling back asleep, Arthur’s mind had other plans as he slowly remembered the happenings of the previous day. Merlin was dead. He had been wrongly accused of being a sorcerer and burned at the stake. And it was all Arthur’s fault. He hadn’t been able to prevent it nor change his sentence. And due to some...illness that it seemed had suddenly and inexplicably come over him yesterday, he hadn’t even given the young man the respect of watching and remembering his death. He had completely failed his friend, in more ways than one.

A loud clang rang through Arthur’s chambers suddenly, breaking the prince out of his musings and he sat up with a jolt, automatically reaching over and grasping his sword from where it sat leaning up against the wall beside his bed. 

“Ah. I see you’re awake now, though I believe I may have insinuated that prematurely.”

Shock washed over Arthur as he stared at his manservant. At Merlin. Who was dead. 

Shock quickly turned into anger and suspicion as Arthur leapt from the bed and faced the intruder who wore his servant’s face.

"Who are you?" Arthur demanded, snatching up his sword from beside his bed and pointing it at the imposter.

Merlin gave a small chuckle, eyeing Arthur with amusement. "Arthur I think you need to lay off the mead for a while. It's not doing your brain any favors."

Arthur moved forward until the tip of the blade kissed Merlin's throat. The latter gulped, the amusement immediately falling from his face.

"Easy, Arthur, easy. It's me, Merlin," the imposter said, raising his hands in a placating gesture as his eyes stared down at the sword at his throat.

"You're not Merlin. Merlin's dead." The words came out harsh but pained as Arthur felt his heart lodge itself in his throat. But the happenings before him took precedence over the pain and sorrow and he quickly pushed them to the side.

Merlin shook his head, quickly stopping the motion when it caused the blade to nick his exposed throat. "Dead? I'm not dead Arthur, I can assure you. How could I be dead if I'm standing here being threatened at sword point by you? Which I might add, is not a very welcoming greeting, even by your standards." Merlin was rambling. He always rambled when he was nervous. But an imposter might have known that and applied it to the situation. Then again...

"You—he—was accused of sorcery. Burned at the stake yesterday." Was it yesterday? It very well could have been today for all Arthur knew. His sense of time wasn't at its best right now.

Merlin visibly paled then seemed to come to himself as he smiled and gave a slight chuckle. None of which reached his eyes. "Me, sorcery? Really? Come now, Arthur.” The prince didn’t waver in the slightest. “How could I have been burned at the stake if I'm standing here in front of you?” Merlin paused briefly as though waiting for an answer but, seeing none forthcoming, he continued on, “Now if you would just lower your sword so I can get back to my chores. Not that I enjoy them, it’s just that with you being such a prat and all, I seem to always have a lot to do and little time in which to do it."

It was that word, that insulting name, which convinced Arthur. No one called him that but Merlin. The _real_ Merlin. He lowered his sword.

"It’s really you."

"Of course it’s me, you clotpole. No one else has this exceedingly handsome face." He beamed before his face turned amusingly thoughtful. "At least, not that I'm aware of."

"Yes and no one else would dare wear one of those hideous neckerchiefs."

"Well no one else can pull them off the way I do," he smiled cockily straightening said neckerchief before turning back to the table and clearing away dishes from a meal Arthur hadn’t remembered eating last night. Had it been last night?

“Merlin, is it morning?” Arthur suddenly asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

Merlin paused in his cleaning and looked back at Arthur curiously. “Yes,” he said, drawing out the word. Arthur frowned, trying to think back on what he remembered from the night before. Nothing but the dream he had had, the dream of Merlin’s death, of Merlin being burned at the stake, came to mind. He remembered the night before that but also remembered waking up the next morning in the dream. So, where did reality stop and the dream begin?

When Arthur didn’t say anything more the idiot continued. “Arthur, are you alright? Is there something going on I should know about?”

Arthur jumped slightly as he was broken out of his thoughts and gazed back at Merlin for a moment before closing his eyes and rubbing his temples with a sigh. “No, nothing is wrong. Just had an extremely vivid dream last night. More like a nightmare.”

“About me? I’m touched, Arthur. Didn’t know you cared.” A pillow smacked the servant in the face, knocking the grin that had been present right off.

“Don’t be silly, _Mer_ lin. I was more worried about who would muck out my stables, polish my armor, and wash my clothes,” the prince stated with an arrogant grin sent his servant’s way. 

He prided himself in his ability to mask his true thoughts and feelings on the matter. The comfort and normality of their easy banter was helping him forget the last remnants of nightmare he had endured. Really, he was being quite silly with all this. It was only a dream. Nothing more.

“Someone boring and humorless I expect.”

Arthur shot Merlin a pointed look. The young man sighed.

“Oh, right. I guess, seeing as there’s no one meeting that criteria at the moment you’ll have to settle for my charming self. I’ll get right on those, _milord_ ,” he said, quickly scurrying from the room, dirty dishes balanced on a tray, before the next flying projectile could be located and launched by the prince. Arthur just smirked as the door closed behind his retreating servant. 

* * *

Arthur tried not to yawn, he really did, but his boredom, it seemed, could not be contained. The meeting had been droning on for hours and yet nothing of importance had been brought up or discussed. It seemed extremely pointless to Arthur. He had better things to do, more _enjoyable_ things to do, than to sit here next to his father, not partaking in the dull proceedings as it was “not his time yet” but he “needed to be present and learn” as his father so put it. A contradiction that’s what it was. Arthur huffed in annoyance.

Finally _finally_ Uther dismissed the council—along with Arthur himself—and the prince was able to escape. He strode quickly back to his chambers, not even pausing to acknowledge any of the bows or nods he received along the way, only thinking of his desire to get out of the castle for a few hours. He needed to escape these white walls for a few hours at least.. 

“Merlin!” Arthur called into his chambers as he burst through. A quiet yelp followed by a thud and a curse was heard from the other side of the chambers. And then Merlin’s head made an appearance on the other side of Arthur’s bed, a hand to the back of his skull and a wince on his face. 

“What _are_ you doing?” Arthur asked incredulously.

Merlin winced again as he made to stand, his hand rubbing the hair on the back of his head every which way. “Trying to herd your filthy socks together, you prat. And you barging through the doors isn’t helping. I almost bashed my skull in.”

“Would be an improvement, I’m sure.”

“Ah ah,” Merlin chided quickly, wagging a finger in the air toward Arthur, “you agreed earlier that I am indeed handsome.”

Arthur frowned. “I did no such thing.”

“I believe your response to my ‘no one else has this exceedingly handsome face’ was you responding with a resounding ‘yes’ and then some other bits that aren’t important.”

“That was—I didn’t—shut up Merlin and go ready the horses,” Arthur finished with a growl and a pointed glare toward his now beaming manservant.

But Merlin’s smile was soon wiped off his face, a look of confusion replacing it. “The horses? What for?”

“We’re going hunting,” Arthur stated, seating himself at the table and picking at the remains of his breakfast that Merlin had foolishly forgotten to remove. Not that he was complaining too much at the moment.

Merlin groaned. “But why? Its nearly mid-day—”

“Which gives me plenty of time to fell a few stags,” Arthur interrupted. “Don’t worry, we’ll be back before dark. And then you can draw me a bath.” Arthur flashed his servant a grin of amusement. Merlin replied with another groan before making his way out the doors and towards the stables.

Half the fun of going hunting was Merlin’s desire to not do so. It really did make it that much more entertaining despite the servant’s lack of stealth and silence and uncanny ability to scare away even the birds in the trees. It didn’t matter, Arthur could use the entertainment. He had been in the castle too long and just escaping it for a few hours if only to watch Merlin stumble and hear his complaining was better than remaining here.

Ten minutes later, Arthur found himself making his way through the corridor toward the courtyard where Merlin had better be waiting, horses saddled and ready for their short hunting expedition. Really, this trip was small, tiny in fact to others they had taken. They didn’t need much. But knowing Merlin, the boy would still argue that they needed to pack enough for a week long trip.

The corridor soon made way for stone steps as Arthur emerged and descended toward where, miraculously, two saddled horses and a grumbling servant stood waiting. A smile of amusement spread across his face. As much as he was unwillingly to go on this spur-of-the-moment trip, Merlin sure was quick to get started. Or maybe he figured they sooner they set out the sooner they would be back. Foolish thinking, that was. It just meant more time out in the forest, hunting to Arthur’s content.

Suddenly a smell assaulted Arthur’s senses half-way down the steps and he reeled back. Smoke, just a hint of its scent, but enough for Arthur’s mind to immediately be transported back to his nightmare. He saw the flames descend toward the pyre that Merlin stood upon, the sorrow in Merlin’s eyes, the knowledge that soon, all Arthur would be able to do is smell Merlin’s flesh as it burned off him and watch as his ashes ascended into the sky. 

“Arthur?” A voice cut through the haze that had descended on Arthur’s mind, slamming him back into the present with enough force that he almost stumbled. Merlin stood there, looking up at Arthur from the base of the stairs with concern, one foot upon the bottom-most stair as though he was seconds away from racing up toward his prince.

Arthur glanced around as he slowly made his way down the rest of the stairs. He almost came to a halt again, upon seeing the black sooted remains of what could only be a pyre—and therefore the source of the smell—piled in the middle of the courtyard.

Despite the hand that seemed to be squeezing his lungs all of a sudden, Arthur managed to remain somewhat composed as he reached Merlin’s side and grabbed ahold of his horses reins from the servant’s outstretched hand. 

“I don’t remember there being a pyre recently,” Arthur asked, trying to keep his voice as bored as possible as he gestured flippantly toward the pile of ashes and half burned bits of wood and straw. “When did that occur?”

Merlin looked startled for a second before composing himself and, with a tone of confusion, answered, “Yesterday, don’t you remember?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “No Merlin, I obviously do not or I wouldn’t be asking you.”

“Oh,” Merlin responded sadly, ignoring Arthur’s insult altogether. The servant face had fallen, as though it had been a personal friend of his that now drifted across the courtyard upon the back of a small breeze. “A woman in the lower town. She was—was found guilty of using sorcery to prevent a cart from trampling a small child.”

Arthur hummed, considering, still trying to ignore the clench of his stomach and control his breathing. He honestly didn’t remember any of that but then again, he had woken in quite a fit this morning. It would come back to him, he was sure of it. It had been a dream after all, just a dream and Merlin was here right beside him not scattered weightlessly about the courtyard. That was somebody else, some other loved one that would never again see the light of day.

Arthur felt guilty for being thankful that it was another who had lost their life and not Merlin. That was not how it should be but nor could he change how he felt. And he didn’t ever think he would change that. He would always be grateful that it was someone else, someone he didn’t care so dearly for. He would prevent it from happening if he could but the relief would still be present if or once the deed was done.

The smell of smoke filled Arthur’s senses then, his eyes burning with the touch, but there was no smoke around, not any longer. It had been a dream, a very vivid, painstakingly real dream but just a dream nonetheless. Merlin was here, he was alive and breathing and just as annoying as ever. His own paranoia must have combined the memory of the woman’s burning and his fear of losing those he cared for and constructed a nightmare so real, he was now questioning reality itself. There was really no other explanation.

Arthur nodded to himself but just to be sure, leaned over and punched Merlin in the arm hard. 

“Ow!” Merlin exclaimed, leaning away from Arthur and glaring at him indignantly. “What was that for?!”

“Just checking,” Arthur stated with a grin, his mind back at ease as he mounted his horse and galloped out of the courtyard toward the gates. Merlin was alive, he was real, this was real. It had all been just a horrible nightmare. That was all. Nothing more to it.

* * *

They arrived back just before dark, the sun’s remaining light turning the sky a light red and pale orange. Arthur jumped from his horse as they reached the courtyard steps, Merlin beside him in a flash, the servant’s mood still low. It had been a successful hunting trip. Not in the sense of game perhaps as he had only managed to kill two rabbits, but in the sense of Merlin’s ability—with his insults and banter, hatred of all things to do with hunting and skill at tripping over anything and everything—to turn even the sourest of Arthur’s moods into lighthearted cheer. It was a skill that Arthur realized he took for granted. Maybe it was the still smallremenants of his nightmare that made Arthur appreciate the qualities of Merlin that he would normally find so grating. Or maybe it was that he had always appreciated Merlin, always treasured his company and adored his undying loyalty and charm and just never wanted to admit it to himself, not until he had gotten a taste—however false—of what it would be like to think he had lost him forever. It was not a feeling he ever wanted to experience again.

But those thoughts seemed to float away from Arthur’s mind an hour later as he settled into the steaming bath of calming herbs, the sound of Merlin tutting around the chambers filling the background. A dream was but a dream and Arthur’s mind seemed to finally understand that and let the last vestiges of it go to rise up with the steam and dissipate into the cool night air. And the fact was reassured again by the feel of Merlin’s hands running over his back as the young man scrubbed away the dirt from the day, sending all the bad thoughts and the horrors and fears to mix with the water and be lost forever.

The feeling of peace and tranquility followed Arthur through the rest of his nightly routine, Merlin by his side grumbling and insulting and being his cheeky self the whole time until finally he left for the night, allowing Arthur to settle under the covers and fall into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

He woke to the sound of his door shutting quietly followed by the sound of soft booted footsteps attempting to be as quiet as possible. It was that fact, the fact that being quiet and even trying to be quiet was not in Merlin’s ability, that caused Arthur’s eyes to shoot open and glance up at the intruder.

There making his way over to the table, was a boy Arthur had never seen before—or maybe he had; it was very hard to keep track of the multitudes of castle staff and their ever changing duties. Arthur groaned in annoyance. Leave it to Merlin to be late again and force another to perform his duties until he could get his lazy arse out of bed. Arthur was going to have a very long talk—most likely by the stocks if Merlin didn’t show up soon—about the honor, pay, and responsibility that the role of the crowned prince’s royal manservant awarded Merlin and how it could all very quickly be taken away.

“Who are you?” Arthur questioned, his still sleep addled brain trying to determine why there was a strange boy in his chambers where Merlin should be.

“I’m—I’m your new manservant, sire,” the boy stuttered, pausing in the act of setting down the heavily ladened tray of food to glance over at Arthur. “Charles.”

Arthur huffed in annoyance as he sat up. He gestured flippantly toward the door in a shooing manner. “I don’t need a new manservant, Charles. Go fetch Merlin and then you may return to your previous duty.”

Charles froze halfway to retrieving a sodden shirt from the floor his eyes wide and locked on Arthur. Arthur raised an eyebrow at him, not quite sure what to make of this boy’s strange behavior but knowing he hadn’t the time for it.

“Now, Charles,” he demanded perhaps a little too harshly.

“B-but sire. Your servant—,” the boy stuttered.

“—Merlin,” Arthur corrected him coldly as he swung his legs out of bed and made to stand.

“Merlin,” Charles amended quickly. “He’s d-dead, sire.”

Now it was Arthur’s turn to freeze, a feeling like ice sliding through his veins overcoming him as flashes of his nightmare from a night ago assaulted his mind once more. No, that was a dream, just a dream, he had determined that already. So then—

“What do you mean he’s dead?” he asked, the words coming out barely more than a whisper as shock and fear washed over Arthur. No, it couldn’t be, the boy must be mistaken, terribly so. Arthur had just seen Merlin last night. What could have possibly happened between now and then?

Charles opened and closed his mouth several times before he was finally able to find his voice. “He—he was b-burned at the stake s-sire. Yesterday m-morning.”

“No,” Arthur denied immediately as he shook his head, the fears and horrors of the nightmare threatening to take over once again and send him spiraling into madness. “We went hunting yesterday. He drew me a bath last night. I remember it very clearly,” Arthur grated out, the words cold and threatening, anger desperately taking place of the oncoming fear. It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be. It had only been a dream, just a dream. Merlin had been there to wake him up the morning before, they had gone hunting together, he could still hear Merlin’s complaints and the easy banter that they always shared. He could still feel the soap residue on his skin from the bath Merlin had drawn him last night. No, the boy was wrong, he was mistaken. It couldn’t have been Merlin. His servant was alive and well and just being his lazy insolent usual self and having a lie in. He couldn’t be—it just wasn’t….

“I’m s-sorry sire. I’ll just go...fetch him...then,” Charles stammered out as he moved hesitantly toward the door, eyes looking left and right, thinking, as though the boy had no idea what to do. As though Arthur hadn’t just given him clear instructions not a minute ago. It caused the fear to spike once more in Arthur but he quickly stamped it down hard, his teeth grating at the effort. It. Wasn’t. True.

Arthur was not sure how much time had passed since Charles left but he was sure time had continued on as he stared blankly at the wall in front of him. For not a second later, Charles returned with someone who was very much not Merlin.

“Gaius? What—where’s Merlin?” Arthur asked, trying to keep the panic he felt at bay, the fear and the anguish that it might be true after all, that Merlin was gone and never coming back. 

And then Arthur finally looked at Gaius, really looked at the old man and he knew. The old physician looked ten years older, skin translucent and body hunched over frail bones as he shuffled over the Arthur. But it was his eyes, swimming with an emptiness and a pain all consuming that confirmed Arthur’s nightmare was anything but.

“No,” Arthur whispered and he could hear the pain and the grief in his own voice even as the physical thing hit him like a battering ram. The breath that had come so easily before felt like nothing but miniscule wisps of no where near sufficient air. He was drowning, the sorrow crashing over him like a giant wave, pulling him down even as he tried to deny the evidence before him.

“Arthur, please, don’t do this,” was all Gaius said as he approached the prince with sorrow in his eyes. 

“It’s not true, no its not true. Tell me it isn’t true, Gaius! Please!” he begged, pleaded screaming at the old man to deny what he could already see, to just take the pain away with a few simple words and bring back the person he treasured most. But Gaius did none of those things, only placed a comforting hand on Arthur’s shoulder. But Arthur was too far gone, too lost in his desperation to take that as the answer, to take any of the signs around him as the answer that they were. He jolted away from Gaius, and attempted to spring off the bed and dash toward the door. He needed to see for himself, needed to know for himself that this was all a cruel joke, a terrible ruse thought up by a sadistically-inclined Merlin in order to get back at him for all the chores he had to endure. But Gaius, despite his old age, held Arthur firmly back, Charles joining him in a second as though he was prepared for this, as though Gaius had told him this was what would likely happen.

“Arthur calm down, you are going to hurt yourself. Please calm down,” Gaius pleaded with Arthur, his voice on the verge of breaking, but Arthur could barely register this fact. All he knew, all he cared about was getting out of this room, out of this castle if he had to and find Merlin and prove that he was alive and well and very much not dead. He couldn’t be dead, he just couldn’t be.

“It was a nightmare, just a nightmare, nothing more! I just saw him last night! I spoke with him, touched him, I spent the whole day with him! Please Gaius, _please_!” He continued, tears now leaking unhindered down his cheeks as he continued to struggle to get away. Finally, with a twist and a burst of energy, Arthur managed to catch Gaius and Charles by surprise and escape their holds. For a second, he was free.

Then there were more hands holding him down forcing him to lay on the bed and keep still even as he continued to struggle against them. The faces above him blurred, guards—some he may have recognized as his own knights if he had been in his right mind—that Gaius must have called in to aid him in restraining the prince. Someone was saying something, someone to the left by the door to his chambers, saying something about Arthur still being ensorcelled and needing time for the enchantment to wear off. Someone that sounded suspiciously like his father. 

But Arthur couldn’t be bothered to care. For not a second later Gaius was beside him again, a bottle of potion clasped in his frail hand. And Arthur knew what it was before Gaius even managed to uncork the small bottle. A sleeping draught. But as he poured the contents into Arthur’s mouth and with a hand over his mouth and a pinch to his nose, forced him to swallow it, the prince refused to believe it. This had to be a nightmare, just a trick of his mind. It had to be it just had to be.

But the grief was overwhelming now, the pain all encompassing and his strength waning. The hands holding him down however, didn’t let up, even as his struggles became weaker. He left out a sob, full of pain and misery, knowing that, as much as he wished it to not be true, it was all over, there was no more denying it, no more fighting it. 

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” Gaius said quietly, tears now cascading down his wrinkled cheeks. Arthur’s world began to dim, the edges of his vision beginning to grey. A sob escaped Arthur’s throat as darkness surrounded him. But a final thought entered his mind, a single spark that brought a small smile to his face right before he fell into the oblivion of sleep. At least he’d be seeing Merlin soon.

* * *

Yes, it was true that Arthur did awake to Merlin’s smiling face, to the servant’s surprise at finding himself with an armful of crowned prince as Arthur’s overwhelming relief at seeing Merlin, knowing he was alive and breathing, burst out of him. It was true that they spent the day going about as they usually did. And if Arthur gave Merlin chores and duties that kept him at his side the entire day well, Merlin didn’t say anything against it.

And its true that by the end of the day the nightmare he had had was nothing more than that, a nightmare. Because Merlin was real, Merlin was here and alive and solid in his arms as he once again surprised the servant with an uncharacteristic embrace. But he couldn’t help it, the nightmare had been much too real for his liking and he needed more reassurance that simple talks and banter couldn’t give.

It is also true that the next day dawned cloudy and grey and Arthur once again found himself in the throes of his vivid nightmare, questioning what was real and what was a dream and not knowing how or even if he desired to end it.

He wanted to believe that this was all one big hoax and that Merlin would appear on a day he was supposed to be dead and laugh at Arthur’s antics, at his fear and confusion and make some flippant comment about Arthur’s true feelings for his servant. Then they could continue their lives as they always had, by each other’s side, never parting and never wanting to, despite the comments and threats made daily about doing just that.

But it never came to be. 

Even now, a year later, the days pass in this fashion, the two realities alternating so routinely that Arthur can no longer tell—as he hadn’t been able to from the beginning—which is reality and which is but a dream. He lives in ignorant bliss, not caring really which is which anymore ,for one seems too good to be true while the other a living nightmare he would rather not be a part of. He doesn’t want both, he wants one, but he’d rather live a lie than risk never seeing Merlin again. So he doesn’t dare break the cycle, doesn’t dare look too hard or dig too deep in either, not wanting to see the falsities that may arise. For he knows if he does, there is a good chance he won’t enjoy the truth that lies beneath.


End file.
